Living in coronavirusworld 142: over crumbs

8/18

art on 125th 

after the storm, a cafe

Any day Liliana comes to clean my house is a good day and I’ll feel fresh after.   Earlier this year she had a rough six weeks while her husband recovered from Covid19.  Now her mother is gravely ill in Guatemala. Only the Guatemala City airport is closed. And Mexico is closed to the US. She’s got to use her Guatemala passport and then fly to Mexico and then ride a bus for five hours and hopefully cross into Guatemala and get there in time. Such is travel in coronavirusworld. 

My Venezuelan friends at the  Monkey Cafe have  built their outdoor space. With his typical artistic flair, the owner has used tree branches fallen in our recent violent wind storm to build his cafe. That's the way we do in New York City. 

On 125th, new art covers plywood on vacant buildings. Including rapper Biggie Smalls in his classic king pose. 

Biggie on 125th 

The Presbytery cabinet continues to wrestle with the issue of churches straining at their bonds to reopen.  We’ve prepared a very long check list, that frankly only the  wealthiest churches can easily meet the standards. In the end, we  can’t control whether they reopen or not.  We debate whether to release a list of vendors who can provide resources for reopening when we don’t believe they should.  It turns out one of our Korean churches (one I know well) elected to reopen. A keyboard accompanist was infected by covid.  Soon the pastor was infected. Now his whole family. And others throughout the congregation. We are obviously sensitive to the fact that most of us  are white. And many of the churches that want to reopen are ethnic. But our  stated clerk, who is African American, points out how little has changed since March.   And that clergy are our essential workers who we are  are putting at risk. We must stand firm, he says. We can’t even  begin to fathom the myriad insurance and liability issues. This is not going away any time soon.      

      

Walking east on  114th by the school,  there’s a world of activity including family dinners, one card game and a covid craps game and dice shooters.  I walk to the Cantina and wait for my Tuesday tacos. I sit outside in the cool of the evening, enjoy my drink and tacos. I’m thinking about the furor in my old neighborhood, the  Upper West Side, over the presence of homeless people housed in local hotels. And the arrival of the voluntary security forces, the  Guardian Angels in their red jackets snd berets, beloved in the ’70’s, more complicated now. They are here to “help out,” their very presence a rebuke of the mayor. 

In California, there are tornadoes made of fire, firenados.  Iowa, in the middle of the country, has experienced a violent tropical hurricane and its devastation. 

By the pond, a man is throwing bread crumbs to the turtles. They are swimming to shore. Scrambling over one another. Pushing each other aside. Struggling to get to the crumbs.  I wonder how awarec of each other they are. Can they feel one another? They are scrambling still as I leave. Over crumbs. 

Living in coronavirusworld 61: ...the kindness of strangers

5/22

Haven't seen this one before

This corona’s fuckin up everything.

(heard through my window this morning as I drink my coffee)

The President has declared he wants the churches open. Will “override” any governor who resists. Our denomination says “no.”  Our Presbytery executive had this to say:

The Presbytery’s Coronavirus Emergency Response Team has done significant research on the pandemic and does not believe there is scientific evidence that says it is safe to gather in person as congregations at this time.

We commend the counsel of the Rev. Dr. J. Herbert Nelson, Stated Clerk of the General Assembly of the Presbyterian Church to the congregations of the Presbytery of New York City: “We are not for rushing people back into the pews when this virus is still claiming victims. When people can go to church without fear of infection, we will be ready.”

The Rev. Dr. J. Herbert Nelson reminds us that “the Church is, and has always been, more than a building. Congregations are using new and creative ways to share the gospel and minister to those in need.” Our congregations have demonstrated that again and again. With buildings temporarily closed, we have prayed, worshiped, made music (which is a bit of a challenge on Zoom), advocated for justice, worked for the welfare of the city, and witnessed to our faith in Jesus Christ by building on existing ministries and by developing new ministries.

                  Rev. Dr. Robert Foltz-Morrison

What a bizarre twist of fate…the president trying to force churches to open, faithful resistance means staying shut. 

But fact is, sigh, churches have not been closed. Buildings have been closed. Churches have worshipped every Sunday. I’ve led and attended Bible Studies. Sigh, The church is not the building. It is the people. The building is there as means to the end of mission, not as an end to  itself. 

Seems to me like a cynical ploy. This does not come from the President’s abiding love for Jesus. This  is the cynical act of a man worried about reelection who is willing to sacrifice our lives to curry favor with one of his base constituencies, the right  wing  evangelicals. 

My walk begins and ends with cop cars again. I see bunch of guys playing ball on a school yard that still has hoops.  I take one picture. Began to take another. Am seen. Hey man, no pictures…So hoops here are still on the down low. 

Hoops on the down low

I see another ironic sign I haven’t seen before at the dry cleaners. And see that someone’s birthday has been celebrated. We all doin’ what we can….

Happy birthday Adrienne

Talking to my mom, I realize how hard I’m trying to connect with home. I love New York City, I belong here. But in this cornavirusworld, I’m clearly yearning for a deeper home. I broke down and bought a subscription to the Post Gazette and read it online every morning. I’m wearing a  Cutch number 22 shirt from the last time the Pirates were good. I went out walking in a  Pirates hat. (The checkout guy at the grocery store noticed my hat and my Steeler grocery bag. Tells me he's from Rosslyn Farms.) Am drinking my margarita in mason jar from PNC Park with a Buccos logo. And I just cooked a sauerkraut, noodle and kielbasa casserole. All that’s missing is an Iron City beer.

My friend is in another ZOOM production, from the Barrow Group and it's For and ABout (FAB) women series. I have just enough time to catch her monologue. 

I host the West Park Open Mic again. We’ve got a good turn out and as usual, some people struggling to get in. On the one hand, some folks just have issues with tech.  On the other, inevitably some mysterious random thing will go wrong each week as if directed by gremlins. We’ve got a classic woman comic. And music from Kazakhstan again. And I end as always, end with RL’s Stay Awhile, as a connector to our first open mics. 

I finish the night with the National Theatre’s production of “A Streetcar Named Desire” a wonderful performance  with Gillian Anderson and Ben Foster. (https://www.nationaltheatre.org.uk/nt-at-home) There’s the tragic romance of the poetry of Tennessee William’s lines against the simmering sensuality of New Orleans as a backdrop. And of course, Blanche's final line, I have always depended on the kindness of strangers. In cornavirusworld, we all do.